Mad Max: Road of the Sunz
by Lewis II
Summary: The whispers of the Plains of Silence talk about an evil coming from out of this world, one of great power and green skin. An evil only the Road Warrior could confront and survive.
1. Chapter 1: Dawn of the Thunder

**Author's note**: I made this one to mess around, so don't expect it to be a masterpiece or to be longer than 5 chapters. I mixed the Mad Max canon timeline with the non-canon videogame just 'cause it made sense for the most part. Hope you enjoy it and if not: WITNESS HOW THIS SHITTY FANFIC GOES TO VALHALLA, SHINY AND CHROMED!

'ERE WE GO!

**Disclaimer**: All rights to the characters and source material belong to Kennedy Miller Productions, George Miller and Games Workshop. This is a story made for fans by fans.

**Mad Max: Road of the Sunz.**

by Lewis II.

Chapter 1: Dawn of the Thunder

My name is Furiosa… and my world is one of war and speed. I am a Great Imperator and ruler of the Citadel.

My clan is Swaddle Dog, and through my veins runs their blood, along with one of a lone warrior. One that came to us as a slave, but left us as a hero. Max, The Road Warrior.

For years I have preserved his memory in my mind and thought him gone, only recently I discovered that he is still alive. I write this as an account to his tales from his former travel companion and sworn enemy, The Black Martyr, through the hand of Piston Paul, my loyal scribe. For his stories are beyond the Citadel, beyond the Badlands, and beyond the reality of this dead world. He was a man of family, a lawbringer who lost everything when the world died.

It was at the end of the Rock rider Pass, beyond the Wall of Nux, where Max left the Citadel to bury what remained of our ancient hero, in his way to Valhalla as the Tainted Chrome. He then ventured into the Rock Riders dominion and stole a bike to ride south towards Gastown , in search for his long gone War machine. He confronted the ruler of Gastown and son of Inmortan Joe, Scabrous Scrotus. He liberated the wasteland from his stain, along with those who followed him: The Apostles of Awful. Still, the prize for it was whatever sanity had made his engine run, for he destroyed the life's work of a humble scavenger, the Magnum Opus, and made him one with petrol.

It was only at the mercy of Wasteland inhabitants and the Rock riders that the Black Martyr could conceal and cauterize his wounds while venturing into the sealed pass. His hands were not fit to drive but to repair,so was how he found a Saint in the Road Warrior and safe passage amongst the Riders, even if the burns could barely allow him to use them. The stories of travelers guided him towards the caretakers of The Bog. There, as he claims, a figure sitting over the fallen white tree expected him and pointed the road towards his new future. His name was Griffa and alleged to know the Road Warrior himself.

At the Bog, a young trader joined the Martyr in a quest to find a war machine, which could help him find his long gone family. They joined forces.

The Bog encased some of the War machines that pursued our War rig during our glorious uprise against Inmortan Joe. The Martyr and his new servant took the skeleton of a rotten vehicle, the parts of many War bikes, the gasoline spared by the Bog people and created their own Spirit of Vengeance. Upon its completion, the Martyr sang a new oath and made a blood pact with his new champion, Smokebullet:

"In His blood I shall write my name. On the dead land I shall spread his brains. He will fall and we shall rise. Our future is his demise."

They embarked into The Great dunes in search for the Road Warrior. He had parted south towards a new passage between the mountains, went through the wasteland and crossed the great dunes along the edge of the Plains of Silence in search not for a people to save but to forget.

They followed the tracks of the mighty v8 into the flats and chased its lonely roar. The unworthy contraption spent many units, but its pace was constant. They followed it constantly under little suspicion of the Road Warriors with the sand as their cover.

On the third day, the warrior lifted his pace. The chase had begun.

The Martyr fired makeshift arrows from a turret, failing all of them. He changed to a rifle and Smokebullet fired his handgun. The Road warrior drifted left and entered the salt flats, from where he fired his gun. As the erratic shots were exchanged, a swift wind silenced the air and carried dust, sand and light with it. The Plains of silence resounded with the sounds of storm, and while he slowly distanced from his pursuers, the Road warior found himself in another sandstorm, such as the one I entered so long ago in an attempt to lose Inmortan Joe.

The Martyr saw it from afar as the chromed war machine came out of the storm followed by a bolt of lightning, as if the world itself was trying to reach for the Road Warrior and destroy it. The sandstorm then brought a cloak of flash with a deafening sound. From it, a War Rig emerged.

However, it was like nothing seen in this world.

It was big and clumsy, yet heavily armed War Machine. A rig full of green creatures. Creatures in all sizes that had pointed ears, dirted claws and massive jaws with sharp yellow fangs. They rode away from the storm and into the sands of the Plains of Silence, they sang their only warcry as one: Waaaagh!

"Behind them, hundreds of War machines emerged, thundering and spitting glorious fire, as if to bless the land with a spectacle of rage." The Martyr recalls.

Their tongue was primitive yet precise enough for the Martyr to evoque. The leader, a massive green behemoth fusioned with scrap metal and machine, climbed on top on the rig and spoke while his followers spat flames through their weapons:

"Oi ya gitz, dis Shiney boy finks he can run from uz. Wiyu look at dat? he'z go'a frend. Send in da Boosta Blastas and the Scrapjets, The Warbikez and the Buggyz go fo' the otha. Ei wantz doze oomie pieces of scrap krumped un full'a holes."

A toned and scarred being of their kind carried smaller creatures on its back and jumped from the back of the rig to the side of one of the moving machines. The critters climbed down its back, sporting belt of ammunition and tanks of gasoline. He yelled while climbing on top:

"You heard bozz, ya grots. Ull togetha Red Sunz. Le'z krump thiz wun good boyz ! GO FASTAH!"

The convoy divided. a river of War Bikes and War Machines flowed towards the Spirit of Vengeance while a screen of smoke advanced towards the mighty v8, revealing 2 vehicles with masive turrets and fangs on their front. The other two were made around massive engines which produced eering whistles, as of a thousand blades cutting through thin air. Both groups were approaching The Martyr and the Road Warrior. The Martyr readied some gasoline juggs and Thunderstick, then readied the turret.

The Road Warrior simply unholstered his pistol and reloaded his shotgun.


	2. Chapter 2: Metal Dusk

**Author's note:** Hope you like this chapter. I'm kinda struggling to make it as interesting as possible but I'm having a blast trying to put all the crazy ideas into paper. Still, all feedback and comments are welcome, I'll try to work on this story as often as I can, even if just to goof around. Without further ado, as a wise man said: Hold on to your butts!

'ERE WE GO!

**Disclaimer**: All rights to the characters and source material belong to Kennedy Miller Productions, George Miller and Games Workshop. This is a story made for fans by fans.

**Mad Max: Road of the Sunz.**

by Lewis II.

Chapter 2: Metal Dusk.

It was the noon of the third day. The Plains of Silence resonated with the roaring engines of the War Machines.

The martyr had found his prey, the Road Warrior had not found his oblivion, but they had both found the army of the Green skins.

The War bikes gained terrain and the green beings started firing on the Spirit of Vengeance.

The Martyr ordered Smokebullet to slither on the plain and avoid the shots. He then sacrificed part of their gasoline reserves by spilling some juggs, throwing the smaller ones and setting the trail ablaze. The flames spreaded, the small juggs exploded and fire took over the bikes and the monsters riding them, burning their flesh and transforming the vehicles to balls of flames and tumbling junk . Their fellow warriors accelerated their War Machines and pushed them aside, running over their burned corpses. They fired their guns and turrets with enormous projectiles. The explosions shook the Spirit of Vengeance and send it on an uncontrollable drift through the flats, spinning as a leaf taken away by the wind. The mighty v8 roared and augmented the distance before being hit by the scrapjet, an unnatural contraption of an ancient flying motor with wheels, which started pommeling the v8's side.

The Road Warrior decided to risk himself and decelerate. The lower speed bikes were distracted by this and abandoned the chase for the Spirit of Vengeance. Two Warkbikez showed up and bumped into the v8's sides, grappling themselves to the vehicle using hooks. The smallest of the green beings started to crawl from the bikes and board their enemy, while the Road Warrior fended them off with his pistol, being painfully bitten and scratch by the nasty creatures. Some of them crawled under the machine's belly and under the board into the engine itself. The warrior could only zig zag as to shake the vermin of his machine's heart while the unrelenting green drivers unleashed their fire on the mighty v8. The impact holes left were fit for a young man's arm according to the Martyr.

The Road Warrior left his driving seat and went out to confront the green monsters face to face. He barely avoided their fire and lept towards the closes of the Warbikez.

He fired his shotgun point blank at the driver's eyes, which simply growled in pain. The Road Warrior then kicked him out of his seat as the creature lost balance along with his vehicle. The warrior barely stood up and jumped back as the bike itself stumbled and became an anchor to be cut off its hook. The warrior fired his pistol while the other driver struggled to maintain balance as the v8 changed its course due to the anchor.

The warrior, now over his machine, fell to his knees due to the movement and saw a massive sand column rising. An explosion that represented a single thing: the War Rig was gaining terrain on him. Struggling to open a drag himself inside his vehicle, he shot the hook off and left the anchored bike to crash against another incoming vehicle. It was a Boosta Blasta.

The heavier vehicles had almost catched up to him and started firing. The massive rounds exploded all around and rose a sand and dust screen. From it, the v8 emerged free at last. the bike emerged as well, with its driver as a pile of gore deformed by the massive wounds.

Meanwhile, the Spirit of Vengeance kept using what few Thundersticks they still possessed to fend off the Warbuggiez. the flock of vehicles made hole after hole through the vehicle's windows and armored plate, while the Saint rolled for cover into a made up barrier. He threw molotovs and Thundercharges as the green riders came closer. They used hooks to pull the Spirit towards them,with a force just shy to rip the War Machine in half.

Smokebullet fired his gun against a buggy getting close to his side. He kept screaming the beings away at the top of his lungs:

"Die! Die! Stay back you monsters!"

The answer from the brutish beasts perplexed the Saint:

"Monstahs? We'z not monstahs. We'z just orky boyz hungry fo' waagh and we'z gunna krump ya gud! Eat dis ya grots!"

Smokebullet stared at the massive barrel of that green skinned being's gun until a crash impacted on the buggy's side and pushed it into the Spirit. The vehicles separated and the green warrior became distracted with its new attacker: it was the Road Warrior.

The warrior and his foe exchanged fire. The Road Warrior could not blind it as he was protected with goggles and its head appeared to simply absorb his shots. He then shot the monster's steering wheel with his shotgun and it simply bent, becoming useless. the green warrior tried to fix it but to no avail, the vehicle was sliding from side to Road warrior hit it's left rear and it started to drift away while spinning and crashed with a fellow rider nearby.

The hooks penetrated deeper on the Spirit of Vengeance as its chasers fired once more. The small vermin stumbled out of the buggies and started to cross over the cables. The Saint could barely cover from the massive bullets and decided to compromise their rear to escape. The Saint used his last Thundercharge to destroy the Spirit of Vengeance´s rear plating by setting a long fuze and slipping towards the machine's front. It was a small explosion, but its power more than enough to transform the hooks into a ball of incoming twisted junk which impacted on the chasers and made them crash into each other, some of them even exploding in a glimpse.

Side by side, torn down from the battle, the Mighty v8 and the Spirit of Vengeance kept driving as to escape from the monstrous war party. There was no time for old grudges as the heavy fire rained once more and the plains provided no cover.

The Road Warrior spotted then not so far within the sands a massive dune.

Both drivers looked each other in the eye and knew it was their only opportunity. They drove over the dune and jumped over its steep point. They landed on the deep sand barely moving forward and yet they managed to move away from the incoming convoy. the green beings cascaded into a crash zone where fire and metal funneled into the sands, accompanied by a symphony of explosions and howls from the green army. The two drivers saw it from a distance but saw no heavy vehicle. They had to keep moving.

They ventured into the treacherous road of the sands. The Saint stared into the Road Warrior's eyes, bitter with rage.

It was the dusk and it seemed that for a brief moment, as they left the plains behind, they could breathe.


End file.
